Desire:eriseD
by Gwendolyn McCormick
Summary: The mirror of Erised was kept after the Sorcerer's Stone incident and various characters return to see how their hearts' desires have changed. Done in one-shots, as many as I can think of.
1. CoS: Harry

**A/N: It saddens me to admit that I am not J.K. Rowling**

The Mirror of Erised. Harry recognized it immediately, his eyes roving over the inscription at the top of the tall, gold-framed glass.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. _

It was a much older and wiser Harry Potter, at the age of twelve, that had rediscovered the mirror. He was in his second year, and Christmas break was coming to a close. It turned out that Malfoy was not, and had no clue as to who was, the Heir of Slytherin. Hermione was in the hospital wing, still sporting the signs of the botched Polyjuice Potion, and Ron was currently in the common room with the rest of the Weasleys. Harry had felt a bit isolated, awkwardly feeling like an outsider to their family, and had gone for a walk through the corridors.

The mirror was once again taking residence in a disused classroom. He had been sure that the mirror had been destroyed during his confrontation with Quirrell, but apparently that was not the case. Harry was about to stand in front of the mirror to see his family, but he hesitated. What if knowing his family was no longer the "deepest and most desperate desire" of his heart? What about the Heir of Slytherin? Could he perhaps use the mirror to find answers?

Dumbledore's voice echoed in Harry's memory. _"This mirror will provide neither knowledge nor truth."_ With a sigh, Harry kicked dejectedly at an empty waste bin and turned his thoughts back to his family.

He wanted to see them, but he knew that things had changed in his life since the first time he had found this mirror. Harry now had wizard photos of his parents, Ron and Hermione had become surrogate siblings, and the questions Harry needed answers to, could not be provided by the limits of the mirror.

He kicked the waste bin again. Dumbledore had asked Harry not to go looking for the mirror of Erised again, and Harry was tempted to just leave the mirror and go back to the common room. _"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,"_ Dumbledore had also said. Harry didn't want to dwell, but that's what he'd be doing if he looked into the mirror just to see the family he never had. With a firm nod to no one, Harry turned and walked to the door.

With his hand on the knob, Harry stopped and turned back. He had pictures of his parents now, but what about his grandparents? Cousins on his father's side? One more little look couldn't hurt...

Could it?

Harry hesitantly walked back up to the mirror. He took a deep breath and then stepped into line with the center of the glass.

He saw himself laughing with Ron and Hermione in the living room of a house he didn't recognize, with Lily and James Potter standing off to the side smiling at the three of them. The Harry in the mirror didn't have a scar on his head, there was no war raging all around. Harry knew with certainty that in this dream, there had never been a Voldemort.

If only it were real... if only things had been different...

Harry watched the Ron and Hermione in the mirror and smiled. Despite the fact that Harry desperately wanted to just be a normal wizard, he wouldn't change his friendship with Ron and Hermione for anything. Harry turned away from the mirror. The real Ron and Hermione were friends with him, scar and all.

Feeling better, Harry stopped by the hospital wing to give Hermione a hug, and then he returned to the common room to let Ron beat him in a game of chess.


	2. CoS: Ginny

**A/N: It saddens me to admit that I am not J.K. Rowling**

Ginny Weasley had just had another of her black-outs. She had no idea where she had been or what she'd been doing, but at the moment she was standing in the middle of the corridor next to a bathroom with Tom's diary in her hand. When she looked at the little black book, an absurd and terrible idea caused Ginny to think that the diary was the source of all the bad things that were happening at school that year.

With a shuddering breath, Ginny ran into the bathroom and tried to flush the diary down the toilet, not knowing that the bathroom was Moaning Myrtle's, not knowing that she hadn't succeeded at getting rid of the diary.

Ginny was nervously making her way back to the seventh floor, scared to be caught out of bed alone by the professors, for it was clearly after curfew. On the way, Ginny thought she heard the tell-tale signs of Peeves coming closer, so she ducked through the first open door that she saw. She stayed near the door so that she could make sure that Peeves would float by and continue on to another part of the castle. Unfortunately, Peeves seemed to have decided that this corridor was exactly where he wanted to be. He took up a lounging position and appeared to be staving off his boredom by bouncing the helmet of one of the suits of armor repeatedly against the ceiling. The clanging sound gave Ginny a headache, but there was nothing that could be done. She would just have to spend the night where she was.

Luckily the room was mostly empty, save for a beautiful and ornate mirror. It was so gorgeous that Ginny took two steps towards it without even thinking. She realized what she was doing though, and hesitated. Was this mirror a dream? A trick? Another enchanted object that would make her feel sick to her stomach with visions of evil deeds?

Ginny shook her head to try to ward away her fears. Growing up with six older brothers, Ginny had always had to appear strong. _It's just a mirror_, she told herself, not that she really wanted to see her reflection. She was sure she looked awful. _How awful?_ Ginny sighed and stepped in front of the mirror.

She started crying. Eleven-year-old Ginny Weasley was marrying a twelve-year-old Harry Potter. She was in a poufy, white dress holding hands with a dashing Harry in black dress robes. They were staring at each other, both blushing but looking extremely happy.

Ginny's heart ached, but she knew what the mirror showed was just a trick. She couldn't be married at eleven, and Harry Potter did not even know she was alive. The tears that had once been happy turned bitter. Heartbroken, Ginny chose the corner farthest from the mirror and sank into a small ball. She was alone, in more ways than one. Her tears eventually ran out but she never fell asleep. Peeves was still bouncing the helmet against the ceiling, and Ginny's heart cracked a little more with every crash.


	3. GoF: Ron

**A/N: This one was a bit tricky because I jumped from second year to fourth year. I really liked this idea, and since I didn't have any others planned, I went ahead with it. I got into a bit of trouble trying to decide if Ron had been back to the mirror yet or not, but I figured it out. Also, if anyone has any suggestions or requests, please say so! :D**

Ron knew he was being petty. He _knew _that Harry hadn't signed up for the Tri-wizard tournament, but Ron was just too mad to care. Mad about being poor, mad about being ignored, mad about being nothing but himself. Who was he compared to his brothers? Who was he compared to his friends? Who was he compared to Harry?

No one.

Despite the fact that Ron had been present through almost all the bad things that happened to Harry at Hogwarts, Ron couldn't help but be jealous. He was often jealous to be honest, but every time Ron had said anything about it, Harry would say, "You just don't realize how lucky you are." That simple statement put things in perspective, for a while, but each time it got harder to believe.

Ron had always been a fighter. He had to protect himself from his brothers, but he also had to stand up for them. Ron had to defend his honor, his family's honor, and the honor of his friends. But this time he just couldn't do it. This time being "Harry Potter" was a good thing, and Ron resented Harry for it. Especially the way that Harry pretended to hate the attention.

Hermione kept nagging Ron to go apologize, but every time Hermione pushed, Ron pushed right back. He couldn't help himself, Hermione always got under his skin. She was so perfect, and he was so... not. It just made him more mad. Ron started avoiding her too, hanging out with whoever was nearby. When there was no one, Ron often just wandered through the corridors being angry.

The first task would start in the morning. Ron still had no idea what it was going to be, but he wasn't worried. Harry would get high marks without trying because he was famous, and he wouldn't get hurt because the judges and teachers were there. Ron scowled as he imagined Harry winning the tournament. Why couldn't it be Ron's turn for some glory?

Ron knew that the Mirror of Erised was in an unused classroom on the fourth floor, and he scowled as he remembered that it was Harry who had told him that. Ron went anyway. He hadn't seen the mirror since first year, and right now Ron could use the ego boost. He imagined seeing himself as Champion of the tri-wizard tournament, for surely that was what he desired most.

He took a short cut through a tapestry and turned left, passing three other classrooms to get to the one he wanted. Ron opened the door confidently, but was taken aback at the sight of the mirror. It was better than he remembered. Ron practically ran to stand at the mirror's focal point, grinning in anticipation.

His grin turned into a startled yelp. Reflected back at him was...

Harry.

Well, it wasn't really Harry at all. It was Ron with black hair, a scar, and a smirk. The Harry/Ron sat on a mound of galleons looking as arrogant and smug as Draco Malfoy.

The real Ron's ears burned hot from embarrassment and resentment. Just because he hated being poor didn't mean that he wanted to be rich, he rationalized. He also didn't want to be alone despite the fact that sometimes he hated being over-shadowed. And there was no way in hell that he wanted to be like Draco Malfoy.

Ron quickly stepped out of the way of the mirror, feeling sick to his stomach. He knew, in that moment, that even though there were some parts of Harry's life that Ron envied, they were the worst parts to envy. Harry was constantly targeted because of his fame. In fact, the times that Harry seemed the happiest were during the quiet times at the Burrow.

Ron took a deep breath and stepped back in front of the mirror. The Harry/Ron prat was still sitting on a mound of galleons. "That's not what I want!" Ron screamed at it. "I don't want to be Harry!"

For a moment, the glass shimmered, and then the viewing pane went blank. All the blood drained from Ron's face in fear. Had he damaged the mirror?

Ron ran around Erised once trying to find something wrong, but there was nothing to find. Upon finishing his circle, he caught sight of himself in the mirror again and breathed a sigh of relief.

This time he saw nothing but himself.


	4. OotP: Snape

**A/N: This entry inspired by IrrelevantLogic. Sorry it's so short, but hopefully it's enough. Set in fifth year.**

Severus Snape hated the Mirror of Erised.

Hated. Loathed. Detested.

To him it was no mere magical object; it was another form of the Cruciatus Curse aimed straight at his heart. Of course, he still went to see it... on occasion. He needed the pain to remind him why he was destined to suffer so.

Reflected back to him in the magic glass was Lily. Always Lily Evans, and never Lily Potter.

Severus often talked to her image, telling her how sorry he was for everything: sorry for calling her a you-know-what; sorry for joining the Death Eaters; sorry for being weak. It was therapeutic, like prayer. Sometimes he said nothing, merely staring into the green eyes that Harry had inherited. The last remaining piece of the Lily Snape had lost.

Severus had often asked Mirror-Lily why Harry had to look so much like James. Why did James get the honor of leaving a copy on the world when Lily didn't? Severus felt it was just another of life's cruelty aimed in his direction: another James to continue making Snape's life miserable. And he knew he deserved it.

There had been times when Severus was tempted to break the wretched mirror. He was reasonably sure he could, but he never tried. He knew that if the mirror were gone, Lily would go back to being nothing more than a memory. The mirror helped to keep her more than that, because the reflection was able to age as Snape did. The Mirror-Lily was not bound by time as she was in photographs, and thus was allowed to be whatever age Snape desired.

He tried to stay away from the mirror as much as possible, but he was driven to it for 'confession' after he found Harry in the pensive. Severus had thought those painful memories would be safe during Occlumency training, that was why he had requested the use of Dumbledore's pensive. The pity in Harry's eyes after seeing Severus's most humiliating moment had been more than Snape could bear. In many ways he preferred the anger emanating out of Harry's green orbs, because Severus knew he deserved it. He could handle the anger, but the pity was too much.

Lily's image was waiting for Severus in the unused classroom on the fourth floor. Snape told her everything, pleading with her not to be angry that he couldn't get Harry to learn Occlumency, and pleading with her to forgive him for not _wanting_ Harry to learn Occlumency. The image of course had no emotions, but Severus's desire was to see a Lily who loved him, so the mirror smiled.

A lone tear escaped Severus's left eye and slowly ran down his cheek, and still Lily smiled at him. He brushed the tear away, put his emotions back in check, and billowed from the classroom without a backwards glance.

Lily would always be there.

Always...

**A/N: For those of you who like Lily/Snape pairings (and even if you don't), be sure to check out "The Prince's Tale" by the Butterbeer Experience on youtube.**


	5. OotP: Luna

**A/N: This entry inspired by Dengjisan. Set in fifth year.**

Luna Lovegood was happily skipping down the fourth floor corridor on the way to her next class. She was wearing her hand-chosen and hand-made radish earrings and butterbeer-cork necklace, and the spectre-specs she found in her daddy's newspaper. She wasn't wearing any shoes, but she didn't mind. The florid deviates told her that her feet weren't made to be weighted down, and that she would only learn to fly without them – skipping was the closest she had come to flight, as of yet.

Upon passing one of the doors, Luna swore she felt a tug: something had pinched her Achilles Heel. She looked down, spinning around in a circle in an attempt to catch a glimpse of whatever creature had chosen to make contact. Even with the spectre-specs she wasn't quick enough. She thought she heard the tinkling of fairy wings, but there was too much laughter to be sure. Luna was always happy to hear her fellow students laughing – such a nice sound. The world should always be full of laughter.

She thought perhaps the fairies wanted her to go into the empty classroom. She dithered in the hall for a few moments, enjoying the laughter, and trying again to find the creatures on the ground. Spinning around in circles also made her robes swirl around her. If she spun fast enough, it was almost like flying. She tilted her head up, closed her eyes, and let her arms join in the swirling.

More pleasing laughter from all around her.

She finally stopped spinning, and took a moment to let the castle stop spinning too. When she opened her eyes she was facing the door she had noticed. Since she was already there, it seemed silly to try and avoid it. Besides, there was no way to avoid everything so why avoid anything? She entered.

It was an unusual classroom, for despite not being used for classes, it was surprisingly well trafficked. Luna couldn't see the appeal. There was nothing interesting in the room, after all.

Except that.

Someone had overturned the waste bin. As she approached, she noticed the poor thing had been the unfortunate recipient of many attacks over the years. Luna very gently picked up the empty bin and moved it away from the door so it would be less likely to continue receiving such awful treatment.

Just as she was turning to leave, she thought she heard someone else in the room. Well, she heard humming. She spent a few minutes looking around, even taking off her spectre-specs in case they were interfering in the visibility of something or someone who wasn't invisible.

Eventually, Luna noticed that she herself was the one humming. It was quite astonishing, seeing as there were two of her.

She smiled | she smiled. She wiggled her toes | she wiggled her toes.

The humming continued, but Luna was no longer sure which Luna it was coming from. It was quite amazing to be doubled; which Luna was the real Luna?

The simple answer was both. The complex answer was both.

Both Lunas trailed their hands along the edge of the mirror, both looked up to read the inscription.

_i show not your face but your hearts desire_

So strange. It was not the heart's way to desire, that was something that came from the mind. The desires of the mind were what Luna wanted to see. Her heart knew that the only absolute of life was the moment being lived. Her moment, her 'now,' was the only thing she saw.

Happily, Luna replaced her spectre-specs on her nose and, still humming, skipped off to class.


	6. HBP: Draco

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who is following this this story, or even glancing at it, and mega-big thanks to my reviewers! You are what keeps me writing. This entry was written for IrrelevantLogic and Snoopykid. Set in sixth year.**

Draco Malfoy thought he had been hand-selected, worthy, of the honor of becoming a Death Eater while under seventeen. He hadn't realized that he had been singled-out as a form of punishment for his parents' failings. When he found out, he had shrugged it off. He wasn't worried...

But he should have been.

Things had been going so well at the beginning: Aunt Bellatrix was teaching him curses and occlumency; Montague had told him about being trapped in the broken vanishing cabinet; Professor Slughorn had a cauldron full of Polyjuice Potion that he was easily able to steal from; and he was able to bully the house-elves into telling him the secret to the Come-and-Go room.

Draco thought that his assignment would be easy. He would fix the vanishing cabinet, and send an anonymous-but-deadly gift to Dumbledore. That had given Draco pause. He had grown up believing that people like Dumbledore and the Weasleys were a disgrace to wizardkind, but still... murder? Draco honestly didn't think he could go through with it.

Time passed and Draco was falling further and further behind in his mission: he had repaired the cabinet, but it still wasn't working and he couldn't figure out what he had missed; and Dumbledore was still alive after two botched attempts.

Draco had realized then that he was expected to fail his task. He would be tortured to death, and his parents after him. For the first time in his life, Draco felt a little fire burn bright inside of him. It was small, but it was there, driving him to succeed because his family was depending on him. He wouldn't let anyone get in his way.

He ignored Crabbe's and Goyle's complaints about being disguised as girls again and led them towards the seventh floor, unwilling to waste even a moment: the Polyjuice Potion wore off in an hour. Draco had finally found the broken rune-set along the inside edge of the cabinet, but he had no idea what to do to fix it – his electives were Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy.*** **He started spending all his free time in the library trying to force an understanding of Runes upon himself. But it was hopeless.

After two months, Draco realized he was never going to succeed. He was going to die. His whole family would be tortured slowly because of him. So Draco went to the Come-and-Go Room alone, not caring if anyone noticed him there, and instead of working on the cabinet, he just sat down and cried. He didn't usually resort to such acts of self-pity, but he had decided to just give up. There was no way he would be able to succeed, and a small part of him didn't want to.

Draco was making his way back to the dungeons a few hours later, his pale face no longer bearing the signs of his weakness, when he noticed a door ajar. Pushing it open, Draco saw a large mirror – clearly magical – standing at least eight feet tall upon clawed feet. It was grand, superfluous, and obviously worth more than a few galleons.

The mirror would have been perfect for Draco, in days gone past. Now of course, Draco's self worth was poorer than a house-elf's. If he had found the mirror at any other time, he would have bullied Crabbe and Goyle into smuggling it down to the Slytherin common room, just to admire himself in it daily. But now Draco figured that all the mirror would show was his failure, written in the bags under his eyes, the thinning of his hair, and the pallor of his face.

He didn't want to look, he wanted to leave and never think of the mirror again, but something held him fast – some perverse desire to see himself at his lowest. Draco walked up to the mirror.

Harry Potter was standing victorious over the Dark Lord's dead body.

Draco ran from the room.

**A/N: We know Draco took CoMC with Harry. The books never say what his other elective was (or if they did, I missed it), so even though the movies put him in Divination, I opted for Arithmancy instead. **


	7. OotP: Harry

**Set in fifth year. Sorry it's short.**

Harry could feel the hole in his chest. Sirius was dead. Dead, with no ghost or shadow or echo left – only broken possibilities. With Cedric, Harry had had closure; he had spent the summer enduring nightmares and regret, but his grief was quickly turned to righteous anger.

Sirius's death was worse: it was all Harry's fault.

Harry had found the hand mirror in his trunk, and a fresh wave of guilt had overcome him. _If only_'s, and _what if_'s passed through his mind, over and over. With Cedric there had been anger, but with Sirius there was only pain. Harry tried not to dwell – Sirius wouldn't want Harry to mope around – but it was useless.

In desperation, Harry had sought out Nearly-Headless Nick, but that too had provided no comfort. Nick was a dead end, retreating swiftly, and leaving Harry alone in the fourth floor corridor. Without thinking, Harry walked dejectedly into the room with the Mirror of Erised.

Another person gone. Another family member lost. Another part of being _Harry_ _Potter_.

Harry stepped up to the mirror and a new wave of heartache overtook him. Sirius was standing beside James and Lily, returned to his formerly handsome state before Azkaban – like the man that had stood beside them at their wedding. How could anyone have doubted his loyalty? How could the wizarding world think, even now, that he was a murderer? How could he be gone?

The tears, that had refused to fall before, fell swiftly as Harry sank to his knees. He sat before the mirror, like he had done the first night he had seen the family he had never known, and wept. When his tears ran dry, Harry stood, his legs trembling. He knew, finally, what everyone was afraid of.

There wasn't even energy left for anger, which was fine. Harry had been angry all year, and he was tired. Tired of being angry. Tired of being scared. Tired of waiting for something that would never come...

Sirius was gone and he wasn't coming back. The dead could never come back, but life would continue on. There was no point in wasting time on anger and regrets.

Because Voldemort would continue.

Sirius was gone...

But Harry was still here.


End file.
